The Rome Journals

Rome Day 1

The first day in a new, foreign city can be unsettling.

You feel like you must stick out. That your way of

interacting with the world is so different from the

locals that each move you make is interpreted by

those curious eyes upon you, starting with the

customs official to fellow passengers at baggage

claim, to the taxi driver who colorfully taught me

naughty Italian words because he ‘knew’ I was an

American…and the list goes on and on.

Maybe it is because I just came off a two-week

excursion to the Nordics, but the energy or, better

yet, the vibration of Rome startled me.

There is an in-your-face experience of Rome. The

graffiti that tracks your steps through the city is like a

colorful representation of one’s shadow bobbing up

and down the historically old landscape.

Meandering along the cobblestone streets, dancing with cars, bikes, and scores of engaging

conversations represented by the passionate and unafraid voices bellowing through the quaint

cafés of a city of over 4 million locals, it is easy to ‘fall’ for Rome. Even the ubiquitous nature of

cigarette smoke billowing into the air and around every corner has me thinking of classic film

noir stitched with deep grays, stark white backdrops, and defining black lines depicting a post-

war revitalization story in real-time.

In truth, I recoil at the second-hand experience, but I also embrace that this practice means

something to an Italian, and I respect that.

A 45-minute stroll escorts me to dinner with old and new friends and conversation about

experiences with the Pope, refugee challenges, and dreams for a more connected world; all

washed down with Italian red wine, the freshest pasta, and an explosive scoop of gelato to

close the night and capped off by a stroll along the Spanish Steps.

While exhausted from a day of travel, I feel the curiosity juices beginning to emerge. I am still

determining the stories that will reveal themselves. Still, I know I am one lucky guy to be given

license to paint with words and to count by the number of interactions I have with others to

ultimately unveil a portrait of a city, a people, and a cause to better the world.

As the saying goes, “When in Rome…”

So, I bid you a good night and a “Ciao!” from the heart of Rome. The empire may have

dissolved, but the passion for the culture runs deep.

-Rod

Rome Day 2

History and our understanding of what it means, how it has shaped our experiences and

opportunities, and the generational impact on all of us can sometimes go unnoticed in our day-

to-day lives. Yet, it is hard to miss after ten miles of walking today, one foot in front of the other

over cobblestone streets and alleyways across Rome.

The talk in the streets centered on one subject, politics.

Today is election day in Italy, and as ‘The Guardian’ put it, “Europe holds its breath as Italy

expected to vote in a far-right leader. A coalition led by Giorgia Meloni would be the country’s

most radical government since Mussolini.”

I need to learn to comment on the personalities and platforms at the center of the Italian

elections. I can, however, share my perspective on election conversations spanning Europe, the

U.S., and Western Africa over the last six months. And while we all hope to be unique as

individuals, societies, and countries, in truth, we are similar and share many of the same pieces

on the chessboard.

That chessboard seems intent on identifying differences rather than similarities, whereby most

of us serve as the pawns to radical thinking steeped more in ‘me’ than ‘we.’

I have heard similar conversations while traveling through the Tambacounda region of Senegal,

at dinner parties and events throughout Stockholm, overt messages plastered around the city

center of Oslo, Norway, on the capitol steps in Nashville, and now in Rome while walking

through 2,000 years of history to the Coliseum where construction started in 70 AD and

concluded by 80 AD.

Civil discourse, philosophy, and debate underscored a Roman empire forever imprinting

government and the rule of law into societies across the planet. 2022 is turning a new leaf as

autumn arrives, bringing questions of value, purpose, and role to the forefront of discussions

playing out through countless languages, expressions, and guttural responses.

Tomorrow begins my journey into the realities of the refugee. Again, the ‘forgotten’ will be

centerstage, and I hope to learn about actual ‘needs’ instead of society-separating ‘wants’ only

meant to empower one over the other.

Here’s to a day that saw the sunshine early, a steady rain served instead of lunch, and an early

dinner of pasta and limoncello to wrap a shared meal with three friends representing the

Caribbean, Uganda, England, and the U.S. And, ok I’ll be honest – a sinful gelato to accompany

an evening stroll up the Spanish Steps.

Ciao from the ancient city of Rome, where history is served daily.

Until tomorrow,

Rod

Rome Day 3

Though I am in Rome, I feel inclined to borrow from the Greek philosophy that believed the

universe was composed of 4 elements – earth, air, fire, and water. It was thought that these

elements were essential to life.

The question of essential elements feels quite proper after the summit's first day. The day I

started with an appreciation for lands far and near and friends from different parts of the world

wishing me a happy birthday.

As the sun rose over Africa and Europe, messages came in, and as the sun migrated over North

America, the same occurred. It provided a real-time moment of reflection on my career and

life's circuitous path, especially in the last six months.

I have been blessed to understand the power of our planet and the impact of water insecurity

in Sub-Saharan Africa. I have seen the sun shine brightly at 3:00 a.m. in Stockholm as if it were

high noon in Los Angeles and taken the helm of an electric boat throughout the archipelago of

Stockholm, consisting of some 30,000 islands, islets, and rocks, illustrating the delicate balance

between air, water, and earth.

This morning I journeyed to St. Peter’s Square inside Vatican City to pick up my press pass – a

30-minute walk through the downpouring Italian rain. As I played ‘frogger,’ trying to avoid slick

cobblestone walkways and bloated potholes chocked full of water, I couldn’t help but feel

inspired.

Sometimes perspective is needed to show us that our planet is delicate and wondrous, that our

lives require nourishment, and that all we have is the relationships we invest in to make a

difference for ourselves and others.

The grand preamble tonight leads me to talk about a summit filled with information devastating

to hear – information about the impact of war on human migration. 85% of refugees displaced

outside their home country are hosted in lower- or middle-income countries. The elements are

fundamental to refugees who see the stars as their bedroom ceiling at night. The details are

accurate for refugees displaced in camps where rationing food and water is a daily activity.

A member of the Ukrainian Parliament and former First Deputy Minister of Education and

Science shared the realities of war displacing almost 7.5 million people. She talked about the

pattern of takeover by the Russians, whereby schools are the first line of business for soldiers

once they have occupied a city. They take over the local schools and make the children come to

school.

Why?

Because they turn the Ukrainian curriculum into Russian and have the children listen to Putin's

speeches. The pain was visibly deep for this stately woman as she shared the story of Ukrainian

teenagers recorded singing the Russian anthem on the steps of their local school. Young people

forced into a propaganda campaign symbolized an attack on their dignity as a people, as a

nation. She closed her remarks by sharing that today, an air raid over her community forced her

young son and his classmates into an underground bunker. Her ask – money to enable more

bomb shelters to be built across her fragile country.

The Greeks may not have had all the answers to our universe. Still, one thing remains quite

clear – a healthy ecosystem vibrant in colors, culture, and community exists when elements and

residents of this planet are provided the canvas to express their unique talents and

contributions. Moreover, a relationship of respect underscores the counterbalancing required

for all of us to thrive, not just survive.

The darkness that allows humans to discard their own kind must be discussed. So, in some

small way, I hope many of you will think more deeply about the refugee crisis as not something

“…that happens somewhere else.”

Our planet and the elements that make it uniquely beautiful and powerful require its citizens to

respect the enchantment of our varied landscapes and to empower our fellow citizens to

embrace one another.

I am blessed to have experiences that provide a perspective beyond a weekend binge of

National Geographic. I hope that all of you have experiences regularly that make you think,

question, and celebrate all the luxuries of the West.

This was a birthday to remember, not just for a quaint Italian dinner with friends steps from the

incredible Trevi fountain but for a day rich in the elements that remind me that I’m human and

a.

I bid you a pleasant evening from Rome.

-Rod

Rome Day 4

My day started with a hunch and with my dear friend and uber-talented film director Tim

Neeves as we strategized the most iconic place we could film in Rome. I might think I’m Russell

Crowe and The Gladiator, but that script resides safely in the corners of my mind. With the

Colosseum out of practical range, we thought, “…hey, we have these press passes from the

Vatican!” These passes didn’t say we could or couldn’t film in St. Peter’s Square, so we thought

playing moderately dumb might serve us well. We were right!

We developed our plan, affixed our press passes to our bags, and headed out under the Roman

sun. Finally, the air was clear after a few straight days of rain, and we figured if we captured any

footage at all, it would go down as a brilliant (said with an English accent) day.

The police presence was noticeable and seemingly all around us. We could hear police officers

sternly question some tourists while others pleasantly greeted the eager visitor. A series of

what felt like near misses or encounters with the police had us feeling quite lucky to be in the

middle of St. Peter’s Square yet seemingly unnoticed. For Star Wars fans, it was like Obi-Wan

Kenobi waving off Storm Troopers to gain access for Luke and the gang.

After filming, we turned our attention to rosary beads – this is the place to secure blessed

rosary beads, and I would not miss my opportunity. So, with a few taps of the bank card, I, with

my rosary beads and a film director in-toe, set off to Gregorian University to interview refugees

and NGO directors.

Each interview, side conversation, and story provided a tapestry of people sharing one common

thread – a deep-seated desire to inform the world of the forcibly displaced. Not just the

atrocities but the successes that prove the power of humanity and the fragility of a singular

decision.

One interview, in particular, sits with me as I type. A young woman, technically an Iraqi refugee

who left her home country in 2005 for Morocco and just recently graduated with her M.D.,

shared that she no longer considers herself a refugee.

I reflected to her that she must be in the top 1% as a female who successfully navigated

secondary school and is now a medical doctor at a private hospital in Morocco. She responded

with a steely yet warm response rooted in a woman who knows her identity and embraces

where she came from. She can hold both realities – that she is an Iraqi who is now a citizen of

Morocco. This woman of great strength owned her narrative and expressed herself as a

cultured and professional woman, just scratching the surface of her potential.

Many have seen their rights stripped through the years, and yet some find their pilot light and

push through, against all odds, to experience and express the full potential of their uniquely

beautiful personalities for all of us to behold.

It becomes harder and harder for me to ‘complain’ about first-world, suburbanite problems

when citizens of our fragile planet are fighting to have and maintain their voice.

I am as guilty as any of becoming a prisoner of the moment. Today reminded me that whether I

walk as a tourist, a storyteller, a #luckyguy, or a father and husband, I am no different from

others who share the same species designation. I walk freely, expressing my voice as one of the

masses – we are past due, as Westerners, in our attempt to right-size equitable opportunities

for those who might be different from us.

A humble good night from ‘Roma!’

-Rod

Rome Day 5

Judging a ‘book’ by its cover can be very easy. Whether we are casually evaluating people who

don’t look like us, sound like us, share different cultural practices, or even root for opposing

athletic teams.

One key takeaway for me, after spending part of a week with NGOs, Universities, and Religious

and International Organizations committed to bridging the humanitarian gap between refugees

and the dignity their circumstances often strip them of, is the true face of the refugee. I met

several refugees, and something changes when the crisis has a name, the situation has a look,

and the problem has a story.

The proverbial ‘cover’ or representation of what or who a refugee is, seems far from our land of

origin, almost too far from our life experience that we feel like we are watching a movie.

And. That. Is. The. Problem.

If we are honest with ourselves, the West isn’t stepping up fully prepared to create sustainable

change for displaced human beings because the narrative doesn’t fit with our story.

The challenge appears, quite sadly, in a misguided notion that refugees serve as a burden to the

host country rather than an asset. If I assume that my child is ‘bad’ or ‘wrong’ as a human, then

the lens I peer through runs counter to a lens of reconciliation between myself and my child.

I had the opportunity today to ask Filippo Grandi, the United Nations High Commissioner on

Refugees, how we can change the narrative of an asset versus a burden by actively engaging

the world's wealthiest countries to step up. The poorest countries in the world host 86% of the

100 million global refugees. I’ll repeat that – 86% of 100 million refugees (50% of which are

children) live outside their country of origin and in the poorest countries in the world.

The High Commissioner had quite a lengthy response to my question – I will surmise what I

believed to be a key and moving portion of his response. The High Commissioner turned the

UN, his employer, into the focus, stressing that ‘United’ in United Nations is the very thing we

are not as a planet of nations. And this lack of unity was and is the scariest part of the

humanitarian crises of refugees, migrants, and forcibly displaced citizens.

The book and the cover depicting forcibly displaced communities and individuals need a

rewrite. We must stand up and eradicate the practice of scraping the bottom of the moral boat

and, instead, construct viable and dignified outcomes for the socially marginalized and

culturally displaced. Refugees can be net contributors to our respective communities and

countries. However, our global economy demands creative practices that extend beyond our

immediate sightlines and embrace contributions from richly diverse talents and abilities.

Suppose we ultimately want the displaced to grab hold of their self-reliance. In that case, as

representatives of the richest of rich countries, we are most likely past due on ‘paying’ our fair

share of the humanitarian tax necessary for perceived burdens to experience the cultural

richness of an appropriately assigned asset class.

Tomorrow the Pope – I must rest.

A mindful and reflective good night from Rome.

-Rod

Rome Day 6

There is much pressure to write a closing journal entry when one meets the Pope or the Papa,

as locals affectionally call him. For days and hours leading up to the visit, the weather called for

rain, not just a steady rain, but hours of rain with thunder and lightning.

Maybe it was divine intervention or pure, unadulterated luck, but rolling out of bed, I noticed a

clear sky with stretched-out cotton ball-like wispy clouds—an early reminder of how lucky I am.

I meant to write this journal yesterday (Pope Day), but I am human and chose instead to spend

time with a lion of a man, in my estimation, that does not know his power. We had a wonderful

lunch, and I wanted the Pope experience to settle into my mind.

The world is a miraculous place. I am typing this journal entry as my plane flies over Paris en

route to Atlanta and Nashville. I am sitting next to a pilot named Dan Brown, and the woman

next to me is watching the Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown is the author of the Da Vinci Code). You

can’t make this stuff up.

Back to St. Peter’s Square – with a beautiful sky above, I did everything to soak up the preamble

to a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I walked around St. Peter’s Square with my British brother

and filmmaker Tim Neeves. We looked at the incredible and moving sculpture Pope Francis had

commissioned as a public acknowledgment of refugees as humans. The emotion that came

through the art was something you must see, in person, to believe. Incredibly moving.

On to security and into what would generally be the residence of the Pope, the Pope, however,

lives with other priests within the property in a smaller dwelling giving credence to those who

believe in his humility. The minute I began walking through the residence, I couldn’t help but

think of the history I was walking into. The marble steps were extensive, making one feel

unsteady as they progressed to the main floor. Stained glass adorned each landing as we

entered the ‘room.’ I have shared photos within this post to provide context. I don’t have words

that would or could appropriately describe the stories embedded within the centuries-old paint

hugging this room.

I took my seat. I am human. And, I will admit, I was aware of the moment, so I picked a chair in

the center and on the aisle. I often spend energy on others, and I enjoy it immensely, but this

time I was going to secure my spot. Guilty as charged.

While waiting, I began to chat with the gentleman to my left—a professor from England with

four girls aged 8, 10, 12, and 14. We’ll call him Dr. Nick for this entry. I may never see ‘Dr. Nick’

again in my life, but I can say that we shared a moment that we will never forget. It was as if he

and I were co-pilots exploring a land neither of us had ever ventured into before. There was

some levity. There was some humility. I thank ‘Dr. Nick for the spirit he shared. I feel like I know

him now, and he knows me. Quite neat, considering the world we live in. I even found out that

he should play the lottery. A few years ago, he was entered into an actual lottery for a chance

to be in the same room with the late Queen Elizabeth. He won! Our Dr. Nick won and can say

that he has occupied space within four walls with the Queen and the Pope. I claim ‘Dr. Nick’ a

dear friend, as an evident and selfish attempt to escape any pentice I might need to pay

someday. Who would blame me?

It probably was a good thing that it took some time before the Pope entered. My vital signs

were allowed to stabilize. Whew.

All the doors shut. Then a series of priests entered the room. And then Pope Francis entered.

His frail frame, slightly hunched over, walked to the center of the room where his chair sat, lit

appropriately from above for him to reside. Watching how somebody enters a room, you can

learn a lot about their spirit. While visually frail, Pope Francis’ short and measured steps had a

bit of spunk. If you listened carefully, you could hear the shuffle of a man who isn’t done yet.

Dr. Anthony Cernera of the Refugee & Migrant Education Network stood up and shared a few

words on behalf of all of us. The Pope listened intently, and then he read his speech to us. Some

were disappointed that the Pope read his remarks on the refugee crisis in Italian, but I wasn’t.

At the moment, I may not have known what he said, but I challenge anybody on the experience

of sitting feet away from the Pope giving remarks in Italian.

Let’s rewind – moments before the Pope came out to greet us, an official of the church handed

out his speech in English for us to follow along. They had only printed a few copies, and I was

without the translation. I can’t make this up – a priest a few feet in front of me stood up, turned

around, looked at me, and said, “…would you like this? I speak Italian, and I believe you could

use this?” I graciously accepted. Him not knowing that this was an incredible gift for my

forthcoming story (stay tuned) and me trying to embrace a very uniquely spiritual moment.

Again, I’m a lucky guy.

When the Pope finished his remarks, we were asked to stand and then proceed directly to the

Pope. A young woman was sitting before me whom I had spoken to earlier in the week. She was

a refugee from the Middle East who had found two host countries to call home. She was an

excellent ambassador for strong women and humanity. I noticed that she didn’t stand to meet

the Pope. I was curious and inquired. Sadly, she could not meet the Pope. If a photo of her was

taken and posted online, she feared extremists would execute her family—an incredibly

sobering experience for me. I hope the West is listening – not everything is about jump houses,

soccer games, and the latest TikTok viral video. The world is complex, and many must live

within these complexities in ways we could not fathom.

I stood up and proceeded toward the Holy Father. As the woman before me completed her

niceties with the Pope, I looked eye-to-eye with him. I leaned in, he held my hands, and I

whispered a prayer to him. A newfound friend whom I have enjoyed a couple of pints with him,

the Nordics might have an inkling as to what I whispered to the Pope. I’ll keep that private. I do

pray that it comes true.

As I turned around, I was handed rosary beads. An unexpected and gracious gift that I will

cherish.

I will close with a reflection. I struggle to write these journal entries because I don’t want to be

perceived as ‘that’ guy. In a world of social media influencers whose worlds look other-worldly,

I don’t want to come across as a pixilated voice rubbing my experiences in the face of those less

fortunate. I get it.

Looking at my travels could send a very different message than I intended. I appreciate all of

the support and active engagement. I have a few ideas for future trips and hope you will

continue to join me. I am saying ‘yes’ to being curious about people different than myself. I am

saying ‘yes’ to the universe, and as a result of sheer luck, I continue to hear the ‘ding’ of the

seatbelt sign on an airplane crossing multiple continents.

I hope you all have experiences that make you feel human. This week in Rome reminded me

that I’m human and a darn lucky one. Ciao from the skies now over London.

Ciao – Rod